MSU no Gakusei-Tachi
by Kimiko1
Summary: YAOI AU What if the G-Boyz went to Michigan State University? What if Heero was a TA, getting his Master's, and J was his thesis advisor? What if J resembled SithAcademy!Sidious?
1. The Perils of Dorm Life

Title: MSU No Gakusei-Tachi Part 1: The Perils of Dorm Life  
Author: Kimiko  
Genre: Parody/humor, fluff, sap, AU  
Warnings: Future lime?, silliness, OOC, bastard!J, yaoi, yuri, subtle self-  
insert  
Pairings: 1x2, 4x3, 5+Meiran, 13x6, DorothyxRelena, Catherine+Hirde  
Disclaimers: The boyz and grrrlz belong to Sunrise and Bandai and any   
other rich people who hold a claim to them, all of whom should refrain   
from suing a starving college student. Tom's the real cafeteria-head guy at   
Hubbard, and belongs presumably to his wife. I don't make any money   
from writing fan fiction - pardon me while I die laughing at the very   
thought.  
Feedback: Would be nice. Flames will be laughed at and possibly posted  
on my website (to share the love).  
Archive: Anywhere at all. (Darkflame, are you listening?) Please let me   
know!  
  
Warnings for the TEASER: Violence toward inanimate objects, Duo-  
centric (and he's having a BAD day), Pokemon bashing, view inside a   
typical dorm room (might frighten many high school students)  
  
************* is a change in POV or time  
  
~HAJIME~  
  
Duo Maxwell glared impotently at the bright countenance of Ash   
Ketchum, whose colorful clothing and sappy grin were currently being   
broadcast from Duo's ancient and much abused television set. He dragged   
his ass over to the TV, scowled at it, and tried valiantly to change the   
channel. The knob, for its part, stubbornly refused to turn. Duo sighed and   
moved resolutely on to Plan B.  
  
The Nintendo 64 was, if it was at all possible, even more battered and   
abused than the TV. Its front was smudged and smeared with black nail   
polish, crisscrossed with rough gouges - battle scars from its ongoing   
struggle to beat Duo into submission (which it continued to win) - and its   
controller wire was now more duct tape than original. This evil   
manifestation of technology-gone-consumerist squatted dumpily atop   
Duo's desk, practically glaring at him. Since it had long since refused to   
spit out a rented Mortal Kombat: Trilogies cartridge, Duo figured he   
would play that.  
  
The game, naturally, decided to choose that day to suddenly die.  
  
"NoooooOOOOooo!" cried Duo, pounding on the N64 for emphasis and   
vengeance. He switched the unit off, and it hissed smugly as the power   
light faded. Worse, Ash Ketchum and his infuriatingly cute Electric Rat   
were back on the screen. Duo bore down on the television's power switch   
with all his weight, grunting and straining, until it finally clicked, and the   
screen went blank. His relief, however, was short-lived, as he quickly   
realized he would now have to deal with the campus' Ethernet system.  
  
Thankfully, there was a pleasant knock on the door.  
  
Duo tore it open, revealing his friends Trowa and Quatre. The two were   
standing in the hallway, arms draped casually about each other, and   
looking immensely pleased with themselves; Quatre, in fact, was grinning   
like the proverbial cat post-canary. Both were slightly flushed and   
disheveled.  
  
They had, quite obviously, been boinking again.  
  
Duo sighed and motioned them to come in; at least he wouldn't have to   
fuck with his computer, which had even more power over him than his   
N64 did. He dragged a couple milk crates out from his closet and   
motioned for the others to sit.  
  
"Let's watch some TV," Quatre suggested, noticing perceptively that they   
were all sitting around staring at each other.  
  
Duo's eyes took on a mad light; he growled audibly in the general   
direction of his television set. "That thing is EVIL," he announced. "I can't   
get the channel to change."  
  
"There's nothing on now anyway," Trowa noted.  
  
"Let's listen to some music," Duo suggested, "and play cards or   
something." If there was one machine in his possession with which he   
could deal, it was definitely his highly modified stereo. The others nodded,   
so Duo strode over to his windowsill - three feet deep, six feet wide and   
filled with the stereo he lovingly called the God of Death - and put the   
new Eminem on random play. Quatre, meanwhile, had dragged out Duo's   
battered Coca-Cola deck and begun to deal.  
  
"The name of the game," announced the smallish blond, "is five card stud.   
Table limit's fifty cents; deuces and one-eyed jacks are wild. Ante up."  
  
They were halfway through their third hand, and Quatre was losing   
pathetically, when the fire alarm went off.  
  
"Oh, EXCELLENT," Duo groused. "This day just gets better and better."  
  
The three friends stood and vacated the tiny room, headed down two   
flights of stairs, left the building, and crossed the street, following   
everyone else like the freshman sheep they were. On the grass across the   
street from Hubbard Hall, they rolled their eyes and stood around tapping   
their feet impatiently.  
  
Soon the drill was over, and they filed obediently back into the building,   
up the two flights of stairs, and down the hall to Duo's room. Duo blinked   
at his clock; they had only fifteen minutes until the cafeteria closed.  
  
"Damn!" he groused. "We have to eat dinner, guys."  
  
"Shiiiiiiit!" Quatre exclaimed. "We'd better run!"  
  
They dashed down the hall to the elevator, pressed the down button -  
  
- And proceeded to wait five minutes as the three elevators passed the   
third floor, all going up.  
  
"Fuck it," Duo announced, "I'm taking the stairs." The others agreed, so   
they ran down the stairs, down the hall, around the corner, up another   
flight of stairs, and into the caf. The woman at the desk, looking extremely   
bored, scanned their IDs and waved them past. They grabbed trays, plates,   
and silverware, and made their way to the buffet-style serving area.  
  
What greeted them there was not a pleasant sight.  
  
Duo scowled and strode purposefully back toward the main office of the   
cafeteria. "Tom!" he shouted. The middle-aged man looked up from   
random acts of paperwork; Duo grabbed him by the arm and dragged him   
to the food. "What," Duo demanded, "the FUCK," and he began to shout,   
"IS *THAT*?!"  
  
"Cajun catfish," answered Tom, unperturbed.  
  
"NO," Duo replied emphatically, "it is NOT."  
  
"Chill," said Quatre, glancing around nervously. "We'll just have salads,   
man. It'll be fine."  
  
Grumbling, Duo followed his friends toward the salad bar, where he   
proceeded to load four salad bowls with every item on the bar. The three   
of them sat in the northwest corner of the room near the big screen TV,   
which Duo turned gleefully to MTV. Sitting around one of the little tables,   
they began to talk of class.  
  
"So, what do you guys have, anyway?" Quatre asked. They looked at each   
other, each one amazed that it was the day before classes and they hadn't   
even discussed this.  
  
"I've got Japanese 101 every day at nine o'-FUCKING-clock in the   
morning," Duo groused.  
  
"You signed up for it," Trowa pointed out. "I'm in it, too, you know."  
  
"Me too!" Quatre grinned. "This is going to be a blast!"  
  
"Yeah," Duo admitted, "it IS worth getting up in the morning to learn   
fucking JAPANESE, man."  
  
"Yeah," said Trowa, "definitely."  
  
~TSUZUKU~  



	2. Foreign Profs are the Devil

Title: MSU No Gakusei-Tachi Part 2: Foreign Profs are the Devil  
Author: Kimiko  
Genre: Parody/humor, fluff, sap, AU  
Warnings: Future lime?, silliness, OOC, bastard!J, yaoi, yuri, subtle self-  
insert  
Pairings: 1x2, 4x3, 5+Meiran, 13x6, DorothyxRelena, Catherine+Hirde,   
SallyxNoin  
Disclaimers: The boyz and grrrlz belong to Sunrise and Bandai and any   
other rich people who hold a claim to them, all of whom should refrain   
from suing a starving college student. Tom's the real cafeteria-head guy at   
Hubbard, and belongs presumably to his wife. I don't make any money   
from writing fan fiction - pardon me while I die laughing at the very   
thought.  
Feedback: Please! I need to know if I should continue posting this fic as it   
evolves! Off-list, though, please, as I'm lurking.  
Archive: Anywhere at all. (Darkflame, are you listening?) Please let me   
know!  
  
Warnings for PART 2: Crazy Japanese professor,   
SexyGothArtistBoy!Duo, HetSquicked!Quatre, Bitch!Dorothy.  
  
~TSUZUKU~  
  
The classroom was full to bursting when they arrived. Nakamura-sensei   
lugged her cardboard box into the room and plunked it unceremoniously   
on the wobbly table. She wedged her squat, rotund little body between it   
and the blackboard and began setting out teaching materials. Yui-sensei   
slipped into the back of the classroom and took the one remaining seat, the   
back left corner by the door.  
  
The clock struck 9:10.  
  
"Good morning," Nakamura-sensei greeted her Section I JPN 101 class,   
bowing. "This is Japanese 101; everyone is in right place, ne?" The sea of   
nodding heads signified their understanding of the question, if not the   
particle "ne". Yui-sensei permitted himself a small snort at the probability   
that the latter would not change.  
  
"Good morning," Nakamura-sensei repeated unnecessarily, beaming.   
"Watashi wa," and she pointed to her nose, "Nakamura-sensei desu." The   
students blinked sleepily at her, uncomprehending. She turned and began   
scribbling words on the board:  
  
watashi - I, myself  
wa - topic marker  
sensei - teacher  
desu - is, am, are  
namae - name  
  
"Do you understand? - Good." Without looking to see whether the class   
indeed understood or not, she erased the board. "Yui-sensei, pass out   
syllabus, please."  
  
Yui-sensei traveled around the room distributing syllabi while Nakamura-  
sensei asked the students their names.  
  
"...Song Callahan," one girl replied timidly, pointing to her name on the   
list. Nakamura-sensei checked her off and moved to the student behind   
her.  
  
Nani...?  
  
The young man was tall, slender, perhaps Hiiro's age, with striking violet   
eyes rimmed in heavy black. His heart-shaped face was whitened with   
powder, his shapely lips painted black. His fingernails were black as well,   
and his hands, pale, slender and elegant, languished regally upon a stark   
black notebook under the weight of numerous wrought silver rings. A   
spiked black dog collar was buckled around his slim neck, and his mass of   
thick, silken chestnut hair was bound in a loose braid secured with a deep   
red taffeta ribbon. His small, delicate ears were pierced in multiple places   
and hung with various silver earrings. He was clad in black boots with   
pointed toes, tight black leather pants, a taffeta poet shirt whose color   
matched the hair ribbon, and a short leather vest laced up the front to hug   
his body tantalizingly. The shirt was open just enough to reveal a   
tantalizing slice of pale skin, a small bit of shapely chest...  
  
"Duo Maxwell," he said to Nakamura-sensei with a tiny black smirk, his   
eyes dancing.  
  
Yui-sensei handed Maxwell-san a syllabus, his own strong, sturdy, tanned   
hand brushing against a slender white one, sending tiny shivers up and   
down Hiiro's spine. The violet eyes met his, the smirk grew into a devilish   
grin, and his mouth went dry.  
  
Scowling ferociously against his own reaction, Yui-sensei did not see the   
lovely face fall as he moved resolutely on, following his boss.  
  
*************  
  
Relena Peacecraft examined her manicured hands, one dainty foot   
dangling from where her smooth, tan legs were crossed. She carefully   
adjusted her khaki skirt and twirled a strand of her artfully arranged   
wheat-blond hair, gazing at the TA. He was very well made; compactly   
built, rather like a cat ready to pounce, his well-developed muscles   
bunching and coiling under his professional-looking navy blue suit. Her   
gaze followed him as he turned away, lingering on a tight, firm, well-  
shaped behind.  
  
A sharp swat to the back of her head startled her back to full alertness.   
"What?" she snapped, whirling to face her umfriend and roommate   
Dorothy Catalonia.  
  
"Bitch!" Dorothy hissed, "I'm still in the room!"  
  
Relena rolled her eyes. "It's cool, I'm just looking," she pointed out.  
  
"He's a GUY!" Dorothy growled. "What are you looking at a GUY for?!"  
  
"Same reason I look at girls," and Relena shrugged delicately. "I thought   
you knew."  
  
"Well I didn't!" Dorothy snapped. "How would I? You never told me!"   
She looked pointedly away from Relena and began reorganizing the three   
items on her desk.  
  
Relena sighed. "Bitch," she muttered. "Arrogant slut."  
  
She was rewarded with another swat to the back of the head, but when she   
turned, Dorothy was studiously ignoring her.  
  
*************  
  
Quatre watched these goings-on with a kind of morbid fascination; this   
was nearly as good as Ricki Lake. Like every other mainstream American   
college student, he viewed the problems of others as entertainment. "Hey   
Trowa, Wufei," he whispered, "check out the catfight!"  
  
Trowa looked around immediately, just in time to witness the second   
smack, and snorted, smirking slightly. Wufei could not be reached for   
comment; seated on Trowa's right, he was speaking with a young woman   
in Chinese. Both were blushing, both were laughing nervously - it was   
enough to make Quatre sick. The thought of a man... and a WOMAN... he   
shuddered. *SQUICK!*  
  
*************  
  
Duo blinked at Quatre from across the room, noticing the shudder, and   
Quatre waved a hand at Wufei and the girl. Duo grinned evilly and made   
lewd hand gestures, causing Quatre to go green and squirmy. In a rare   
moment of pity, Duo shifted in his seat and began actually to pay   
attention.  
  
He took down notes as quickly as he could, squinting fervently at   
Nakamura-sensei's handwriting in a vain attempt to make sense of the   
sheer quantity of information bieng thrown at him. After approximately   
five minutes, during which he wrote down the letters "i", "r", and what he   
thought might have been "q", he gave up and began doodling in his   
notebook.  
  
He sketched out an stick figure - the figure of a fallen angel. He began   
carefully to flesh it out; strong arms, well-muscled chest... The wings,   
bloodied and broken, reached out like a plea from the broad shoulders.   
Dressed in a pair of torn jeans and a stained tank top... Spikish dark hair,   
intense eyes, a tiny smirk that was almost a scowl -  
  
- And he had drawn his TA. As an angel.  
  
The clock struck 10:00, and Duo followed the other students out the door   
before he had to think about what this could mean.  
  
~TSUZUKU~  



	3. School and Work or A Day in the Life

Title: MSU No Gakusei-Tachi Part 3: School and Work or A Day in the   
Life  
Author: Kimiko  
Genre: Parody/humor, fluff, sap, AU  
Warnings: Future lime?, silliness, OOC, bastard!J, yaoi, yuri, subtle self-  
insert  
Pairings: 1x2, 4x3, 5+Meiran, 13x6, DorothyxRelena, Catherine+Hirde,   
SallyxNoin  
Disclaimers: The boyz and grrrlz belong to Sunrise and Bandai and any   
other rich people who hold a claim to them, all of whom should refrain   
from suing a starving college student. Tom's the real cafeteria-head guy at   
Hubbard, and belongs presumably to his wife. I don't make any money   
from writing fan fiction - pardon me while I die laughing at the very   
thought.  
Feedback: Please! I need to know if I should continue posting this fic as it   
evolves! Off-list, though, please, as I'm lurking.  
Archive: Anywhere at all. (Darkflame, are you listening?) Please let me   
know!  
  
Warnings for PART 3: Hectic schedules, evil cafeteria food, stupid   
English instructors, bastard!J makes an appearance, Heero cooks Italian –   
be very afraid! Also, a lot of Duo's classes are semi-based on my own;   
this is what I have to put up with every day.  
  
~TSUZUKU~  
  
A number of factors conspired to ensure that Duo's doodle was absent   
from his mind; firstly, his next class was a thoroughly involving   
philosophy course – mostly discussion, in which Duo was, or rather would   
have been had he been uninterested, forced to participate. Lunch was an   
ordeal; it took him an inordinately long time to discover the location of   
Wilson Hall's cafeteria, and when he managed, he was rewarded for his   
trouble with mushy noodles in watery marinara. He sat carefully in a   
wobbly chair at a dirty table and glanced around, seeking the TV.  
  
Wilson Hall's cafeteria does not have a TV.  
  
He glared furiously at his tray, willing his lunch to transform into   
something more appetizing – nothing fancy, just a Big Mac and some fries   
– hell, even cold pizza would be better than this! Duo's lunch stubbornly   
refused to be cold pizza, and so he stoically ate his mushy, runny   
spaghetti.  
  
His English class was insipid and nauseating; he had thought "Readings in   
North American Literature" would be about books, rather than "ethnic   
identity". Duo was not interested in his instructor's opinion that race was a   
genetic constant. He knew from his anthropology course (he had been   
dual-enrolled in high school) that race is a social construct based on   
physical appearance and is entirely subjective to culture; but when he   
expressed this fact, he was merely blinked at and ignored.  
  
The booklist he received, naturally, was insipid and nauseating.  
  
The remainder of his afternoon was spent in the Hannah Plaza College   
Store, hunting with Quatre after a somewhat rare book on the religion and   
culture of the Ancient Near East. The book, incidentally, was not required   
or even specifically recommended for Quatre's class; but the instructor   
had mentioned it in passing, and when this was questioned as sufficient   
motivation to dig futilely through a bookstore for hours on end, Quatre   
would mutter something about "getting back to his roots" and wade   
cheerfully into the stacks once more. It was a rather trying afternoon, all   
told, and Duo's taffeta hair bow had wilted significantly by its end.  
  
Dinner, of course, was awful.  
  
Hubbard had apparently succumbed to the vegetarian pressure, and was   
now serving several varieties of meatless slop; currently on the menu were   
veggie hot dogs, lentil casserole, meatless chili (which Duo privately   
thought might be all right), and veggie "chicken" nuggets. He filled a large   
bowl with the chili, reasoning that he could at least indulge his craving for   
spice of all varieties, even if he could not act on his inherent carnivorous   
tendencies.  
  
The chili, he soon discovered, was quite the mildest he had ever   
encountered.  
  
*************  
  
Yui-sensei suffered through two more sections of Japanese 101, staring   
fixedly at the board and not bothering to follow along in his lecture notes.   
The stupidity of the Amerika-jin gakusei-tachi was appalling; but it could   
not account totally for their ignorance. Nakamura-sensei had to be the   
worst sensei he had ever encountered; she had no connection whatsoever   
to her students, did not even glance at them to see if they were paying   
attention. It would not bother Hiiro in the slightest if the students never   
learned anything.  
  
Except, he realized, that Nakamura-sensei's office hours were during   
extremely inconvenient times of the day; and that meant that hordes of   
baka Amerika-jin would begin bombarding Yui-sensei in his office as   
early as this afternoon. Once this occurred, his mentor would know   
instantly; and the burden of their education would fall squarely upon Yui-  
sensei's shoulders.  
  
He groaned inwardly.  
  
*************  
  
"Yui-san!" called Dr. J, entering his protégé's immaculate apartment.   
"Yui-san, where are you?"  
  
"I'm here," came the reply, muffled slightly by distance. J made his way   
into the kitchen, opening the door with a flourish to reveal Yui Hiiro,   
standing over the stove and carefully watching a pot.  
  
"Yui-san," J began, then stopped, sniffed delicately… "What on earth are   
you cooking?"  
  
"Fettuccine alfredo." The Italian words rolled fluidly off the Japanese   
tongue.  
  
J blinked. "Why would you – " he stopped. "Never mind." He paused.   
"How was your day?"  
  
He was rewarded only with the famous Yui Glare of Death.  
  
J smirked. "Yes, I thought as much; not the easiest to work with, is she?"   
The glare intensified, eliciting a chuckle from the aging professor. "It's   
not as if you have a choice, is it? Well, go ahead – drop out of graduate   
school. Go back to the gutter in Tokyo!"  
  
Hiiro seethed impotently from across the kitchen, practically snarling. He   
hated the way his "mentor" (as the baka insisted on being called)   
pronounced "Toukyou". "Don't worry about me," Yui-sensei said quietly,   
dead calm. "I'm not going anywhere. Those students are going to sound   
like native speakers when I'm through with them."  
  
J's infuriating chuckle echoed in his wake long after he left the apartment;   
like the cackling of crows it lingered, driving Hiiro toward madness. But   
he had made his own bed; now he must lie in it.  
  
He cradled his head in his hands, alfredo sauce forgotten and boiling on   
the stove. What on earth had the Sensei gotten him into this time?  
  
~TSUZUKU~  



	4. The Trouble With Floor Meetings or CATA ...

Title: MSU No Gakusei-Tachi Part 4: The Trouble With Floor Meetings   
or CATA is a Crack Whore  
Author: Kimiko  
Genre: Parody/humor, fluff, sap, AU  
Warnings: Future lime?, silliness, OOC, bastard!J, yaoi, yuri, subtle self-  
insert  
Pairings: 1x2, 4x3, 5+Meiran, 13x6, DorothyxRelena, Catherine+Hirde,   
SallyxNoin  
Disclaimers: The boyz and grrrlz belong to Sunrise and Bandai and any   
other rich people who hold a claim to them, all of whom should refrain   
from suing a starving college student. I don't make any money from   
writing fan fiction - pardon me while I die laughing at the very thought.  
Feedback: Please! I need to know if I should continue posting this fic as it   
evolves!  
Archive: Anywhere at all. (Darkflame, are you listening?) Please let me   
know! I'm posting it on my website as well, so g'head and check there if   
you've missed parts.  
  
Warnings for PART 4: CATA does not belong to me, thank every god and   
all the Fates (those would be Clotho, Lachesis and Atropos; see, I'm not   
totally ignorant). CATA is the evil bus system of the greater Lansing area.   
Okay, so it's normally not too bad, but – well, the only thing I can tell you   
without spoiling the plot is that Quatre's evening is based on a true story.   
The term "Resident Mentor" belongs to the University; until this year it   
was "Resident Assistant", like any normal person would expect. Song   
Callahan is really me; it's one of my old aliases. Her/my roommate   
belongs to herself, although her name is not really Anna. I belong to my   
muse Kuroneko and to the voices in my head.  
  
~TSUZUKU~  
  
The trouble with floor meetings is that you can never get to them on time   
if you have a night class that day.  
  
Quatre had been looking forward to his REL 205 class all week; he had   
managed, somehow, to find the obscure, not-required texts at the library,   
and he was all set to blow his professor away with his knowledge and   
dedication. The class went well. The lecture was engaging, the professor   
humorous as well as knowledgeable and intelligent; everything appeared   
to be going as planned. And since the class ended at 8:50, Quatre figured   
he could easily make it back to Hubbard for the floor meeting at 9:00.  
  
This was, however, not the case.  
  
**************  
  
"Hey Trowa, where's your boyfriend?" Duo demanded cheekily, lounging   
catlike on the ratty carpet of 3 North Hubbard's community room. "Didn't   
he say he'd be back from class in time?"  
  
"He did," Trowa mused. "I wonder what's keeping him."  
  
"Maybe his libido got to be too much for him, and he's off fucking some   
other guy in a closet somewhere," Duo teased. "Ow," he continued, as the   
empty pop bottle Wufei had thrown bounced off his skull.  
  
"Oh, leave him alone, Wufei," said Trowa without much enthusiasm.   
"He's just being an ass, as usual."  
  
"Hey!" Duo snapped. "I'm not an ass!"  
  
Treize Kushrenada rolled his eyes at the antics of the freshmen. "Could   
you three possibly keep it down? Some of us are trying to have a floor   
meeting here."  
  
"Sorry," said Wufei and Trowa at more or less the same time, while Duo   
grumbled, "Ah, fuck you, Kushrenada."  
  
"As I was saying," Treize continued, studiously ignoring the crazy Goth,   
"we need to set some community standards. This is a quiet floor, but just   
what that means depends on you guys. Okay, so next week, we'll set our   
standards, and that meeting will be mandatory. If you can't be there, you   
need to let me know ahead of time so I can talk to you about the kind of   
behavior you want to see on the floor. Okay?"  
  
More or less everyone nodded.  
  
"Okay." Treize scanned his clipboard thoughtfully. "Ah. Yeah, a lot of   
floors make T-shirts. If you guys want to do that, we'll need to get them   
ordered in the beginning of November, so I'm going to need designs by   
mid-October, and we can vote on them then. I'll post a sign-up sheet on   
the board."  
  
"Sign-up sheet?" echoed Zechs Merquise – Treize's boyfriend, Wufei's   
roommate, and Relena Peacecraft's stepbrother. "Come on, man – does   
anyone NOT want to have the shirts?" He looked around the room.  
  
"Some people might not be able to afford it," said Duo acidly.  
  
Zechs raised an eyebrow. "A $10 T-shirt? That's not expensive."  
  
Duo scowled. "Not everyone has $10," he muttered.  
  
Treize gave Zechs a warning look. "Also," and he flipped a couple pages   
on his clipboard, "I guess there have been some concerns expressed about   
the fire drill on Sunday. Some of you want to know how often this will be   
happening." He paused. "I don't know. They don't tell me this stuff; it's   
different every year. But, you guys did a really good job of getting out and   
everything, especially since we never got the chance to talk about it.   
There's just one thing you guys need to be doing different."  
  
"What?" demanded Duo, exasperated. "We got out of the fucking   
building, didn't we?"  
  
"Shut up, Maxwell," growled Wufei. "Don't piss off the Mentor."  
  
"You need," Treize continued with a long-suffering sigh, "to knock on all   
the closed doors as you leave, to make sure everybody gets out. It's just   
good sense."  
  
"Yeah, okay," said a few people.  
  
"That's pretty much it," said Treize, "unless anyone has anything they   
want us to talk about…?" No one moved. "Okay, again, mandatory   
meeting next week – tell guys that weren't here, drop me a line if you   
can't show."  
  
And that was the end of Duo Maxwell's first floor meeting.  
  
*************  
  
At the bus stop in front of Berkey Hall, a smallish blond guy stood   
waiting. He shivered in the cold; he stamped about, puffing and rubbing   
his arms, trying to warm himself. His watch ticked away, passing 9:05;   
and he cursed under his breath, but the bus did not appear. Quatre finally   
stomped into the little bus shelter, squinting at the schedule in the dim   
light. Apparently the next bus was leaving Mason/Abbot in three minutes.   
He would therefore have to stand here for another eight.  
  
*************  
  
4 North Hubbard's residents had assembled in its tiny community room,   
most of them huddled on the floor in clusters and pairs. Song Callahan and   
her roommate Anna Genereaux perched on a table, listening as community   
standards were discussed.  
  
It was boring as hell.  
  
"Okay," said Catherine Bloom, 4 North's Resident Mentor, "I think we're   
all clear on that." She added a rule to the already extremely long list,   
which was destined to remain posted on the bulletin board for all of the   
semester. "Does anyone have anything to add?"  
  
Song raised her hand. "Yeah, how 'bout 'The next moron who makes an   
obvious rule gets her ass kicked by yours truly'?" Anna high-fived her;   
Dorothy and Relena snickered.  
  
Catherine sighed. "Fine. We're done. Next week – "  
  
"Same time," said Dorothy, sounding bored.  
  
"Same place," Relena added, practically yawning.  
  
Catherine rolled her eyes. " – there will, of course, be another meeting. If   
you can't make it, let me know by Wednesday afternoon, okay?"  
  
*************  
  
The 37-S arrived at Berkey Hall at precisely 9:12 pm. Quatre, whose   
hands had begun to turn an interesting shade of blue, thanked every god of   
whom he had ever heard and hastily boarded the bus. He flashed his bus   
pass at the driver, headed toward the nearest seat, and flopped down   
unceremoniously upon it, staring into the blackness which called itself a   
window. He grinned to himself; soon he would be home.  
  
But it was not to be.  
  
*************  
  
Duo grinned manically, flipping channels like a madman. He had been   
doing so for the past half-hour: crouched on Trowa's beanbag chair,   
Quatre's remote control firmly in hand. "This is GREAT!" he exclaimed   
for perhaps the third time in the past ten minutes.  
  
"Duo…" Trowa muttered. "Quatre might not be happy if you broke his   
remote…"  
  
Duo ignored this statement completely, off in his own happy little world   
of channel-surfing, where he was King.  
  
"Hey! Maxwell!" A well-placed pillow bounced off Duo's head, startling   
him enough for him to drop the remote. Trowa dove, successfully   
recovering it, and turned the station to Comedy Central, where Jon Stewart   
was hosting the Daily Show.  
  
"Ow!" Duo whinged, glaring. "Hey! What was that about, man! Can't a   
guy have any fun!"  
  
Any reply Wufei might have made was cut off, as Quatre abruptly   
stumbled in the door, glaring balefully at his bus route map.  
  
"Q-man, what took ya?" Duo asked, grinning cheekily.  
  
"CATA," Quatre announced solemnly, the light of battle in his eyes, "is a   
CRACK WHORE!"  
  
Those present blinked, more or less in unison.  
  
"They have two buses running the 37- and 38-S routes, right, every twenty   
minutes? Yeah, okay, fine – except they switch sides at Shaw/Farm, the   
rat bastards!" Quatre shouted, panting into the silence that followed.  
  
Duo grinned. "I coulda told you that, man. Shoulda asked."  
  
~TSUZUKU~  



End file.
